Daëmor
by Sultar
Summary: She knew no laughter, she knew no joy, she knew no hope. She was Maie, the queen's one expediency. This is her story.
1. The first warning

I own Maie and the nameless pony and Daëmor. No one else though. Read, enjoy, please, please, please review!

Her name? She had none, and yet she had many. Lady Death, some called her, and Dark One and Black Hawk. But none knew what her real name was. She knew not herself. She knew not her past, her parents and siblings, her place of origin, her way of life. She knew only who she was now: the dark herald. The queen's one expediency. This is her story.

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Maie grumbled as she deftly swung off her horse. Could it be called a horse? She didn't think so.

_Stupid thing looks like a cross between a donkey and a rat. And is just as slow, too._

Stripping it of its tack, she gave it a quick rubdown before sending it to the paddock. And she noticed how much faster it went there, compared to when it was being harried by whip and spur- why, it was even doing a fast walk.

And this caused Maie to grumble some more, wishing for a _horse_, not some plodding pony. And that led to, of course, wishing for a companion.

Like every other child in Valdemar, she would run to see the annual herald trotting his silver-white companion down the cobbled road. Like every other child, she would greet him enthusiastically, eyes shining in wonder and awe. And maybe even envy. And like every other child in Valdemar, she would dream, long, hope for a chance to be special, for a chance to be a herald.

_And not just any other herald, too. I want to be special. I want to be the best._

Which was, she knew, as she glared at the shaggy, mud-splattered bay pony, about as likely as the pony turning into a companion. As if in contempt, the beast chose that time to snort its dry, winding snort.

_Yeah, well,_ she thought darkly,_ I hate you too._

And she did hate it, it that smothered her dreams, that dragged her back to reality when she so willingly would have danced upon stars and moondust. It that had her wings bound tightly, so she could not soar with the winged ones above her. It that rendered into ashes her long ago flame of passion, her long ago flame of hope.

She turned and headed back to the little cabin that she shared with an only parent, her mother, bracing herself for chores and yelling and verbal abuse. Shoulders slouched, she trudged on towards home. Yet she couldn't resist one last glance, one last once of hope, towards the road, waiting for the click of iron against cobblestone, the jingle of silvery bells.

Nothing.

Nothing but a wintry chill filling the air, the breath of death on her neck, the sensation of being watched, being taken measure of.

The birds had stopped their merry chirping.

The mud-caked grass of the paddocks were too still, caught in the suspense of something no one knew about.

Something was wrong.

Maie froze, then shook her head violently. If she rushed a little going back to the cabin, if the muscles on her back wired tight in wary suspicion, people wouldn't know. Her mother wouldn't suspect anything.

But it was only people who would not know.

For fading into the growing darkness, slit eyes, glowing dimly a darkened red, stalked the young girl until she disappeared into the cabin. Then a piece of black parted from the shadows of the woods, gliding softly away. There was no click of iron against cobblestone, no jingle of silver bells.

Just a dark, chilling silence. No sound, no snort or thud of hoof or rustle of grass. And the creature's name floated into the minds of every watcher, up in the trees, down cringing in the grass.

Daëmor.


	2. Daëmor

His name was Daëmor. His parents, his sire and dam, did not matter, and so were not remembered. Maybe they were like the silver-white companions known and admired and held in awe by so many. Or maybe they were like him.

What was 'him'? He knew not that, either. He was a companion, and yet not one. He was evil, and yet good. He had no morals, and yet fought for the ethics he himself believed not in. He was known by hardly any, and yet was a dark whisper in the minds of all. A dark whisper… of doom and death and destruction.

His eyes, a mere slit of glowing, smoldering embers, scanned the dark forage with an intensity beyond mere alertness. Beyond mere wariness. He was still, but not relaxed; he was never relaxed. Coiled muscles bunched in colossal proportions down his hindquarters. Colossal, yet compact. He had the look of one emaciated, and he was emaciated. But not of lack of food; of lack of joy, lack of passion, lack of emotion. Of lack of sentiment. Thin, wiry legs with hooves like sharpened stakes and shoes of tempered steel, and silent steel, matched an undersized head with massive jaws and merciless, razor teeth: made not for survival, made not for convenience of movement or feeding or such, but made to bring death. For that was what he had been created for: to bring death.

Daëmor snorted, a low, chilling sound, and flicked his tail in annoyance. The waterfall of darkness spread a premonition of doom through the forest, through the village. He wished to be back in his forest, to be away from the noise of the village, the dappled light pushing through the tangle of leaves and branches overhead. He had stayed for the night, to wait for the girl. Now, with the crisp morning breeze and the lush grass sparkled with dew, his temper was short. The birds had escaped from the area marked with some unexplained coldness, and were now perched elsewhere, chirping their cheery morning tunes. Daëmor ignored them, ears flicking back a bit in irritation before blocking out their noise. It was dawn. The first light of sunrise had poured into the window of the cabin. Where was she?

The queen knew about this, of course, but no one else. It was one secret she must keep, as those in line before her had to keep as well. To bring a fate worse than death upon an innocent was hard on her, but it was necessary. For in combat, in assassination, in espionage, there was none who could match, who could protect Valdemar as well as, the dark herald.

Daëmor tossed his head in impatience, flame released in the embers of his eyes. His neck was thin and snakelike, his mane tangled from wind and rain and caked with mud. It had been months since his last herald had been killed, and so it had been months since he was last groomed. It mattered not to him. Just as the death of his herald mattered not to him.

That one had not been his only one to have died. There had been many. Yet he could not remember any of them. They were dead, and so mattered no longer. And so were not worth remembering.

He merely chose, and trained, and reformed. And when they died, they died, and he chose again.

As he was doing now.

Faint footsteps sounded from the cabin. The young girl strode down the stairs, combing out ebony hair with her fingers. Daëmor glided through the forest, eyes smoldering satisfaction.

It was time.


	3. Nightmare

Note: Thanks, wizard 116, for my. . . only reviews. Haha, no, i really am grateful : ). Any tips? This _is_ gonna be a really different story. A really different, and yes really freaky story, i hope.

It was too early.

That was the first thing Maie noticed as she stumbled out of the cottage. A faint stench of sweat and grime and burnt cooking followed her out, clinging onto her. The first rays of sunlight had barely graced the cottage roof, flickering, fickle, over the shafts of wood.

It was _way_ too early.

She glared around at her surroundings through sleep-fogged eyes, and trudged on towards the paddocks, where her 'horse' stood, unusually tense, at the gates. It was then that she noticed something else.

It was way too quiet.

Oh,birds were chirping, but few and far between. And they were not happy chirps. They were chirps of anticipation, chirps of danger.

Chirps of warning.

The birds were giving warning. Her spooking horse was giving warning.

Something was wrong.

Maie shook off the thought immediately and lugged her horse's feed bucket into the store room, leaving the obviously frightened beast pawing relentlessly, piggy little eyes dilated in fear and dark nose and snorting in small, panicked bursts.

She was imagining things. She was still a little spooked from last night's nightmare. Of course it was reasonable to imagine things.

Scooping chaff and oats into her horse's bucket, she gave herselfa little mental scolding.She had absolutely no right to jump at nothing, no right to let her daydreams and nightmares plague her into being in one of her war-torn fantasy lands in which shewas the hero.Harsh, harshberatings, whichcontinued as she dragged the faded yellow feed bucket back to the paddocks.

Stupid, stupid girl. Daydreaming gets you nowhere. Nightmares get you even less far.

Except maybe nightmaresdid gether a little farther than her daydreams. Because one was there right now, blocking her way to the paddock.

Eyes as red as dripping blood, massive jaws, massive teeth. Long, unkempt mane and tangled tail. Legs of bone and sinew and muscle. Hooves of power. Hooves of death.

Maie did the only thing she could think of.

She screamed.


	4. A fate worse than death

Heya!

Hehe...sorry for my cliffhangers-sorry doesn't mean I'm gonna stop them.:)I like being evil.  
And i'm working on my default chapter now.  
AND longer chapters:). Thanks for the advice! Enjoy and pleeeaaaase review!!!!

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The queen stared unseeingly at the piece of parchment, that pale hand that was hers clutching the oak table tightly for reassurance. Her court was gone, all her guards given leave, all her handmaidens ordered away. It was just her in the suddenly comfortless room, reading the suddenly comfortless piece of parchment.

Oh, she knew very well about the dark companion, and of course, knowing that, had to know about the dark herald. But she had never expected a choosing. At least not in her lifetime.

For a dark herald to be needed again, to make that human sacrifice of the newly chosen herald, Valdemar would have to be facing very, very much.

She knew the fate that would come to the chosen, presumably young, presumably naïve, presumably altogether too trusting. The type of person who was just..._good_. Those were the types the dark companion would choose.

Sacrifice the good for a greater good. Sacrifice the pure for a more important, corruption dotted pure. She must choose. She had no choice.

Send the girl to that fate.

A fate worse than death.

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Even as she screamed, she knew it was quite useless. No one in this remote little village was very likely to come; they lived miles off, and even _if_ they decided her life was worth the bother, she would be long dead by the time they'd reached her.

Her mother, well _that_ was a given. She probably thought Maie was having a little tantrum, if she heard the scream at all; she was so used to tuning out everything her daughter said she might as well have been deaf.

Which meant that there was absolutely no one to help her.

Which meant death.

_:Idiot girl.: _

Maie couldn't quite get past her fear enough to be affronted.

_:Idiot girl, if I were wanting to eat you believe me I would not have waited to be seen.:_ Sarcasm dripped condescendingly from each coolly spoken word.

Not to kill? Huh? _What_ then? _Huh?_

_:I like my prey unwary…so much easier that way.: _the monster's voice could have been described as bored if it were not quite so. . . insulting.

Staring in incoherent shock, Maie could only bob her head stupidly in what the. . . thing seemed to take simply as idiocy.

_:I'm a companion, girl,: _it said sardonically, as if it were somehow very amusing, _:My name is Daëmor. I **choose** you.:_

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Now Maie knew what it was like to only be able to draw a huge, white blank. And although she was loath to be seen, as she was now, as some little country fool, there wasn't much she could do to wrench herself out of it.

She'd read all there was to read about Heralds and Companions. She knew everything about them, their history, their duties... their choosings...

And choosings were supposed to be wonderful!

She'd always read of choosings to have been something wonderful, as in trumpets-blaring-and-blazing-sunshine wonderful, or even as in gently-laughing-drizzle-and-sweetly-singing-breeze wonderful. Or even anything in between. But it was _supposed_ to be _wonderful_.

She hadn't expected this. . . darkness. This doom and gloom chilling-ness. And definitely not this fear. But the mindspeech was there, and the feeling that something of utmost importance had happened. And companions couldn't lie.

There was little doubt in her mind that he _was_ a companion. Companions, in her mind, were essentially talking horses. Who, granted, could do all sorts of incredible, magical things like run at amazing speeds, or gallop tirelessly, or be incredibly smart. But who were still, in essence, horses.

Which was a singularly stupid thing to think, but it was easier to talk to this. . . companion as a talking horse than to a big, black, scary monster.

And since she'd have to be with this big, black, scary monster from now on...

"So. . . what happens now? I mean, we go to Haven and all, right?" she asked, quickly shaking off the thought as irrelevent. She wondered why she'd never heard of any black companion before.

_:Of course not. I, and you from now on, am more, ah, unique than any. . . normal companion and herald. We go to a waystation, in isolation and hidden even from the eyes of heralds.:_ Now Daëmor shifted his weight in slight impatience, _:We shall leave now, if you will.:_

"Oh of course, but I need to pack, I've got belongings, you know, little somethings to bring along." Weren't chosens able to take their things?

_:You will have no need for them there. Come. We must make haste.:_

That was a direct order, and Maie could only gaze helplessly at her frightened horse, her little cottage, her past life.

_But I'll have a better life, and a brighter present. And I'll have a chance to dream. _And that, she knew, was the deciding factor. To be able to dream. To be able to reach her dream.

And so she mounted, gripped tightly onto the mud-tangled locks of coarse, black mane. She held on as the companion surged forwards, away from her past, into her future. And as they swept away, she reminded herself that she had nothing to hold her, no hopes that she could reach for, no dreams that she could achieve.

Yet the dread was still there, and the certainty of fear.

A little, crystal tear escaped from the prison of her blinking eyes, rolling softly into freedom, into future, falling slowly to the blurred landscape. It hit the unforgiving dirt path, breaking into a million tiny droplets of purity.

And was slowly engulfed by the dark, dirt road.


	5. Journey's end

Hey again! So sorry I'm so slow. I had to indulge in a little period of self-pity at the lack of interest in my story, but I've gotten my pathetic little ass working again! Heh, so sorry, I know, I'm an ungrateful little bitch:). Will be good now.

p.s. Ya, ya, I get it: Longer Chapters!

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"Where are we going?"

It was the first word Maie had uttered-had dared to utter- since they had left. And that had been… a _long_ time ago.

Long enough for her legs to cramp with stiffness, and long enough for her death hold on the companion's coarse, black hair to loosen in fatigue. _Certainly_ long enough for her admiration of the dark, engulfing scenery to fade, and for it to seem, well, … engulfing.

There was no answer, and Maie wasn't _quite_ brave enough to prod an answer. Instead, she continued clinging on and tried to be positive.

Tried.

The forest had grown steadily darker as the candlemarks flew by, not because the sunlight was fading, oh, no, the sun blazed higher yet. But a multitude of leaves wove a web of darkness overhead, trapping sunlight, trapping hope.

Even the birds had fled.

Maie had always loved birds, had always trusted birds. Birds had warned her when the annual white herald came trotting down. Birds had warned her when her horse had sneaked out of his paddock and into the notorious forest swamp. Birds had warned her when the neighbors had come to her hut to demand that her mother pay the money she'd owed them. Birds were always there for her.

And now they were gone.

Serious doubts began to settle in the back of her head, no matter how hard she tried to shake them off. A chill crept up her spine and she bit her lip to stop herself from voicing her doubts.

But she couldn't stop herself from thinking, and she couldn't stop herself from thinking those thoughts.

She wondered why Daëmor had not the slightest trace of sweat on him, for they had been galloping for candlemarks at least. She wondered when they could just _stop_.

But most of all, she wondered why she wasn't happy. Why she wasn't grateful. Her dream had come true. She was going to be a herald! She was going to be something special. She was going to be the best.

Maie lifted her chin and looked, _really_ looked, around her. The forest green was of a darker shade than any leaf and blade of grass she had ever seen. It was almost black, even when lit by little trickles of light. The trees were gnarled, bent and twisted, stooping down threateningly. There was more mud than grass, more black than green,…

_More doom than hope._

Beyond annoyed, she gave herself a little mental scream. She was with a _Companion_! Of course she had nothing to fear.

_:The waystation is but a few meters away,: _the dark, whispered mind-voice still never failed to startle Maie.

"Oh, um. . . okay. . ." Startled out of her thoughts, she glanced absentmindedly around her.

She couldn't see anything but tree after tree after tree.

where?"

_:To the left:_

Feeling incredibly stupid, she scrutinized the landscape to the left. Slowly, slowly, the outline of a building separated itself from the masses of green and brown and black.

_That _was a...waystation?

Hesitantly, she slipped off the Companion's blck, gritty back, locking her knees in a desperate attempt to _not_ fall. Gritting her teeth, she hobbled slowly in search of a door.

Finding an old, rotting wooden door, and an even old_er_ wooden knob. She carefully let herself into the darkness which lay past it.

The first thing she noticed was the smell. The smell of dust and decay was strong enough to make her wish for the forest outside. Waves of the dust crashed into, above, around her, and hacking coughs soon echoed around throughout the cabin. Shielding her already stinging eyes, Maie quickly found a lamp. A little flame soon danced light in the dark gloom, and she hurriedly lit others before examining the room.

It was of good quality, when she looked past the dust. Feather blankets fell haphazardly on a massive bed. There was a bookshelf of varnished oak, though no more than half of it carried books. The books themselves were ancient, and were definately _not _for bedtime reading. There were supplies, foods that could be kept for years without spoiling, and clothes of the darkest ebony. The waystation was large, very large. Large enough to have a kitchen and bathing room and bedroom and stable. It should have been nice. It should have been very relieving to Maie. And maybe it would have been, but all the rooms were painted black, dark as nightfall, and no cold, winter breeze was needed in the cabin for it to feel cheerless. For all its comforts, it was as comfortless as the blackened forest outside.

Still, Maie squared her shoulders and forced a grin. There was a horse-companion- to be groomed and fed and watered, and then the dust to be rid of. And then, as her stomache growled noisily, food! Striding out the door again to Daëmor, she threw a careless, little smile.

"So, what's next?"


	6. Battle of Wills

Thanks Tessabe and Jezebel (I know isn't Daëmor cool?) and of course Wizard116 for reviewing : ). I dunno if I should let someone go to the forest. . . maybe a herald. . . otherwise how do the supplies get there? Unless it's magic. . . hmmmm. . . Also, any suggestions to what a dark herald would need to know, other than killing and killing and killing? Certainly not court manners. . .

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By the end of the week, Maie had settled into her new-albeit lonely- life. Her waystation was free of dust and, although still a comfortless black, suited her needs perfectly. The food was tasteless and of no variety, but it was food, and Maie never went hungry. And if she had to chop her own firewood for the fire, well, it wasn't as if she weren't used to doing that anyway. But there was always the company. . .

Maie had never been so alone before. Granted, she _had_ been isolated from the village, but, well, she'd had her –hated- mother, she'd had her stupid pony, she'd had the birds and the occasional neighboring visit. She'd had even the annual herald and bright-eyed Companion.

Here, there was only her and Daëmor.

Well, it _may_ have been the fact that she had not wandered more than fifty paces from the waystation… and that those fifty paces were always to the stables. But Maie didn't think so. She didn't really want to know what exactly was beyond those fifty paces. She didn't really want to know what exactly lay beneath the cover of tree and shadow.

So she was just going to have to go lonely for a little longer, she thought as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, with no morning birdcalls to interrupt her lazy musings. Which was _one_ high point, compared to two thousand lows. . .

And that was when she noticed the time.

With a groan, she hoisted herself off the bed, stumbling around a bit until she shook sleep from her eyes.

Enough time for a quick shower, and then some breakfast. . .

The water was never warmer than slightly cold, and so the shower was always quick and full of heartfelt swearing. The fifteen-minute run of hot water at home, even though almost all of it was usually taken up by her mother, seemed a luxury compared to this.

Still, there _was_ a kettle she could boil water in, if she could spare the time. Maybe a little less sleep was worth a hot bath. . .

Or maybe not.

The past week had been, simply put, quite exhausting, as she juggled caring for herself and Daëmor and cleaning the waystation and chopping wood. Frankly, she wondered how exactly she was going to have time for any lessons at all.

Although maybe she just wasn't used to all this work. With some getting used to and some smarter thinking. . .

Maie shook off the thought as she hurried through another bowl of porridge and nuts. She was eating like a squirrel, and had been for the past. . . since she'd arrived here. Not that she was complaining. Or rather, not that she was complaining much.

Cleaning up and rushing her fifty paces to Daëmor's stable, she mixed chaff with oats and electrolyte and splashed water into the dry mixture. Giving the waiting Companion his breakfast, she wrestled two flakes of timothy hay down into a haynet, and then dragged the load to the stables. One high point of a Companion was that you didn't get kicked trying to muck out the stable while he ate. So Maie did just that, and quickly, before currying and brushing Daëmor's coat to the dark, dark shine.

She had learned two things about her Companion since she'd been chosen. One was not to expect him to talk very much at all, and the other was not to expect any, ah, _bonding._

Being chosen really wasn't at all what she'd thought it'd be like. There was no love involved, not much happiness. More like a professional relationship. A job. A duty. And Maie, she was all about duty.

But, she thought as she picked straw off of Daëmor's tail, there was none of the romance implied by the books and worshipped by the bards._ She_ certainly wasn't going to get any worship from a single bard.

_:Certainly not. We are not to be seen, nor heard, nor even known about.:_

"Are you reading my thoughts?" Maie demanded, startled and rather taken aback.

_:yes.:_

Her jaw dropped, but she quickly yanked it back up again, as flames leaped into her eyes at the thought of her lack of. . . privacy. And that he could admit it like that. . . With the same tone as he would use if she'd asked him if he'd finished his breakfast.

_:I'd rather you'd not stop brushing me.:_

"And I'd rather you not read my thoughts!"

In answer, he merely craned his long, dark neck, looking at Maie with harsh, blackened eyes, a small, smirking gleam flashing in them. Maie tossed her head and set her chin, an answering challenge. The little gleam widened, and sharp, sharp teeth clicked an. . . approval?

_:You will do.:_ And with that, he was once again silent.

And left Maie staring, glaring, angry and confused, brush still motionless in her hand.

_:Be quick. We shall start our lessons within the candlemark.:_ His mindvoice was faintly amused.

"Lessons about?" Maie asked snappishly, still feeling very snappish, very angry, and very, very argumentative. She did _not_ want Daëmor to know how very interested she was.

There was a little more than a hint of amusement in the answering mindvoice.

_:Magic.:_

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There _has_ to be electrolyte in Valdemar! How else do they help their horses sweat? But I _did _refrained from the hygain ice and breeda and. . .: )


	7. The greater good

Yay!!! Me is getting many many much reviews. Me is happy : ). Me is also a little bit hyper and a little bit insaaane. Heh. Now,. . . down to business. . .

Dilemma: No lack of ideas, no worries: ). But thanks anyhow. My ego's just taken a

biiiiiiiiiiig rise!

Shadowcub: I agree with you completely. I don't really wanna be sliced to pieces before

I reach forty. I generally, except for Van cuz he's cool and so I'm biased, categorize heralds under bold, reckless, and slightly insane.: )

Aga: Heh. Oh ya, showers. . . Heheh. Stupid me. . .

Suesmommy: But I can't disgrace the great electrolyte by changing its name!! God

knows it's saved my horses so many times!!

Jezebel: Oh wow, you _are_ evil: ). But he _does_ do something a liiiittle mean to free up

Maie's time. . .

Tessabe: Thanks for the advice!! The assassin, yes, but Maie is supposed to be nameless,

faceless, and unseen by everyone. . . unless just before she kills them. Maie's actually in my other, long ago story, An Unseen Shadow. She was. . . very cool there. And yup, she divorced herself from all emotions. . . very different from now.

Wizard116: THANKS SO MUCH FOR REVIEWING!!!!!!! I've had six reviews from

you in. . . six chapters. . . wow. . . you're my best friend: )!!! Heh, but really, thanks so much. You've been. . . what's the word?. . . Inspirational.: )

Ooookie, must get out of hyper mode and get to the story. The evils of the dark companion, coming your way!

P.s. notice that 'dark' stands for the color as well as the personality!

p.p.s. just in case you guys think I'm overusing words like comfortless and dark and all, I'm trying to drive those things in, you know, like drill them into your brains. Mwahaha.

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Magic?

"You mean. . . witchcraft?"

An amused, sardonic eye of blood red raised in answer.

_:No, girl, I mean **magic**.:_

Maie hadn't even known magic _existed_. The only 'magic' used in her little village was by an aged crone who was more often wrong than right in her weather forecasts. There was no such thing as real magic. . .

. . . was there?

_:Idiot girl, of course there is. Do you honestly believe the stories of Vanyel Ashkevron false?:_

"No, of course not!" Maie denied vehemently, but her brain was clouding and spinning in confusion. Of course Vanyel was real, but he was told to have used magic, and magic was not real. But they _had_ to be both fact or both fiction. She tried in vain to rub off a brewing headache. Why did _everything_ have to contradict with each other?

Still. . . learning magic. Being able to _do_ magic. . . A little gleam in her otherwise frustrated eyes gave away much. Magic was strength. Magic was power. And power. . .

Startled, she jerked herself out of that line of thought. Horrified at herself, she hurriedly returned to quickly brushing the companion down. She was _not_ corrupt. She was _not _power-hungry. It was from the lack of sleep, she told herself frantically. Which led to a very obvious question.

"I don't really have enough time as it is," she told Daëmor, just as an excuse and to give her time to think.

_:It matters not,:_ came the sinister reply, _:certain. . .arrangements. . . can be made.:_

What the arrangements were, Maie didn't think she really needed to know. Maybe more magic. Maybe not. Either way, she didn't want to know.

_:Shall we, then?:_ the dark companion said, a question that really was more a statement than a question. Maie nodded gingerly in answer, and silently followed Daëmor as he pushed away the remainder of his feed and strode silently out of the stable. His iron shod hooves clicked against cobblestone as he led Maie to a little room far away from the waystation, much farther than her previous fifty step record.

It was. . . a room. That was the only way it could be described, not because it was so special, or so amazing, but rather because it was not special, or amazing, at all. It was black, of course, without any furniture, be it rug or painting or _anything_ whatsoever. Completely empty and bleak, it reminded Maie that there _were_ in fact places more comfortless than her little waystation a little ways away. There was, however, a little surprise: the walls and floor were of marble, pure, black, marble, not wood.

_ :There have been occasions in which. . . **heralds**. . . have lost control of their magic. To have the room, and so the waystation and forest, set fire would be. . . annoying.:_ There was a little mental smirk at the word 'herald', but Maie decided that it was not the time to brood about that.

"Oh, well. . ." _That's comforting_, was the little thought that stayed unspoken. There was no room for doubts, not now. The time for those were lost past over.

"Let's start, then," she said instead.

Daëmor gave her one long, calculating gaze, sharp eyes piercing into what seemed like her very soul. Then sharp teeth clicked once, twice, and he nodded slowly.

_:Let's start, then,: _he repeated slowly, amused.

_:We begin with the shielding.:_

Maie nodded expectantly, ears pricked to hear some secret word or line or phrase. What she got was something different. Something very, very different.

It was as if something-someone- had _forcibly _forced his way inside of her brain. She could feel a cold, dark presence that made her want to shudder in disgust. Except that she couldn't shudder. She couldn't do much of anything at all. And that was even worse than the cold, the _black_ presence she knew was Daëmor.

With a mental scream, she tried in vain to wrench _herself_ back, to throw that dark _thing_ away from her mind.

_:Get away from here! Get away from **me!!**: _What??

_:Yes,: _Daëmor replied in sardonic amusement,_ :that was mindspeech. I thought you might have it.:_

But Maie was in too much panic to notice. Struggling to free herself, to free her mind, to do _anything_, she tried to claw herself back into her mind.

_:It's **my** mind! **Get out!**:_

_:Silence.: _the sharp command stilled Maie for just a split second, but that split second was enough for the companion to instill further control and command.

_:Now,: _he said in a voice that brooked no argument whatsoever, _:**this** is what shielding should feel like.:_

And she would feel it, she just had to calm herself down a bit. Companions did what was right. There must be a reason to do this! And, reasoning to herself, she maybe could find why.

It was so much more convenient, so much faster, to do it. . . this way. How much faster could you learn to, for example, ride, if an instructor controlled your every movement and you just sat back and. . . learned. To be able to _feel_ what was right was. . .

Just plain wrong.

But, of course, she had no other choice. She had to learn.

_:And learn fast,:_Daëmor said in his soft, sardonic, silky black voice that Maie was beginning to hate.

_:And learn fast,: _she agreed shortly.

_:Show me again.:_


	8. Nameless

Hey again!! Next chapter, loooooooooonger: ). Heh. I took the hint. Tell me if it's still too short.

Wizard116: If you'd like to see what she does after her transformation, it's in 'An Unseen

Shadow'. She's cool there.: ) hint hint

Tessabe: He _is _magic, but you know how mages can alter their appearances? He altered

his color. Nothing else, though. He never looked like a Companion.

Dolphingirl32173 : YAAAY !!! I was walking on air for two whole days !!: ) !! Oh and

the funny e? I dunno, really- my computer does it if I press ' and e.

Dilemma: Thank you, thank you, I will continue on. Even if I didn't want to (not that i

don't!) I think I'd have to out of obligation. : )

Jezebel: : ). . . i can get high on these reviews. . . hehe. . .

Moondance K'Treva: Yay ! New reader! Hmm. . . I don't think it's really safe to hunt in

that forest. There are wyrsa and colddrakes and other things that Daëmor can connect with. I think Maie'd get killed on her first trip out. : ). And then me have no more story left to write : ). But more and more things will come to her from the forest. But self sufficiency is an idea. . . much more plausible since no one's really supposed to see her unless they're gonna die anyhow. . .hmmm. . . thanks and okay, longer chapters!! : )

Anyhow, story time! Read, enjoy, and once again pleeeaaaaaaaase review!!!!!

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It was early dawn. Maie didn't need to struggle out of bed; she had trouble sleeping these days, and was never very tired. There was too much to think about to have time to be tired.

She sorted through her mind for the day's lesson. Daëmor was going to have her try her newly learned skills in real combat, probably one of his illusions. She had learned much about shielding, as well as fundamental attacking magic. Swordplay and archery were simple and quick to learn, once the companion had given her the right feel. In two weeks she had learned more than most in two years.

Strapping on her sword, a practice she had quickly gotten used to, and pulling her longish hair into a severe knot, did not take much concentration, and just as well, for Maie had too much on her mind to be able to give either very much attention. For example, the secret stranger in her waystation.

Most of the day was dedicated to learning, and although she still made her and Daëmor their meals, the rest of the chores were mysteriously accounted for. It was. . . disconcerting. . . on that first day Maie had trudged into the waystation to find her bed made and her floor swept. But somehow, between the time she left the waystation and the time she got back, someone-or maybe even something-saw to her home. She'd initially felt guilty about having some sort of unpaid, unfed. . . slave, but maybe it was something of Daëmor's, a magically created beast. The companion wasn't saying-or mindspeaking- anything.

Maie shrugged as she strode towards the stables. The companion wasn't in, but she prepared his feed anyway. He never said much, anyway, so the fact that he wasn't telling her about the mysterious housekeeper didn't necessarily mean anything was. . . amiss. And even if Daëmor didn't care too much about morals, and a companion would never do anything completely evil.

And that, she thought, as she threw feed and hay in for the companion, was that. There was nothing to be worried about. . .

. . .Except for the low, inhuman snarl just behind her.

She froze, still crouched in the stable with Daëmor's feed. Another snarl, this time from another direction, told her there was more than one.

_Probably a pack of them, from somewhere in the forest_. The deepness of the growl spoke of an animal of medium height, and silent footsteps told her of its agility.

Slowly, cautiously, her sword hand strayed from the feed bucket, grasping her sword as she heard a third snarl rumbling to her right.

She was surrounded.

_But I'm in between the stable doors. So if I get behind it, only one can attack me at a time. That'll give me a little more of a chance. . . _

Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the hilt of her sword, slowly, quietly unsheathing it. Maybe they wouldn't notice if she took her weapon out slowly.

Fat chance.

A light leap of paws made Maie swerve around, sword drawn and ready just in time to stop the creature's attack. It snarled, hissed, and recoiled reluctantly, staying its attack to bound lightly away, so revealing the rest of its pack.

Wyrsa.

_Shit_.

Maie leaped back as one of them lunged for her, then thrust her sword towards it in a single, expert sweep, letting the feeling of rightness Daëmor had drilled into her engulf and control her movements. The wyrsa dodged nimbly, but she drove forwards, slashing at its unprotected neck, hitting its back as it dodged not quite quickly enough. Blood sprayed and confirmed that the situation was completely, and terrifyingly, real.

Quickly, Maie flung herself clear of the down wyrsa, heading for the next attacker. It struck. She parried. It dodged. She lunged. Grimly, she held her ground until she managed the fatal blow that rendered it useless and so meaningless to her.

Another one, smaller but faster, with a darker blue shade and a mean glint in its eyes. Maie gave a little snarl of her own, caught up in a haze of death and rage.

_Let them die. Let them all die._

And then, flame. Flame and screams.

Screams of terror.

Screams of death.

- - -

Supposed to be chapter break but I thought it was too short

- - -

She was burning.

Fire was in her eyes, on her hands, in the little upturned snarl dancing on her face. Around her the acrid stench of burning flesh reigned. She heard hisses of fear, of pain. She ignored them. Let them burn.

She had never known rage such as this, never known herself to be able to drown in this lust for death. She gave a low, hideous laugh. They would burn. She would watch them burn. She would laugh.

She was herself, and yet was not. This thing, this laughing, sadistic, manic _thing_ was not her.

Was it?

The thought was shaken off. They, those pathetic forms of life, unworthy of even being in her sight, had dared attack her. Who were they to even glare at her, to even _think_ of her death?

_:Scum. . . You shall all die. . . You shall all burn.:_

No, this was not her.

Who was she?

_Who was she?_

_Who **am **I?_

Now she panicked. She bottled her rage. Battled her fires. And saw the destruction she had caused.

Carcasses of burning wyrsa lay scattered over the stable. A stack of hay was burning, and was soon extinguished. Blood and flesh and ash mingled, their stench filling the enclosed space.

_Maie. I am Maie. _

She took shaky breaths, trying to wrench herself out of panic. She didn't know who she was. For a moment, she didn't know she was Maie. She was nameless, faceless. . . soulless.

_No._ She denied the thought any power, yet power it stole all the same. _No. I am Maie. I know who I am. **I know who I am.**_

She sprinted out of the stables, down the pathway, into her room, to curl up on her comfortless bed and forget.

Flinging open the door, choking on a disbelieving sob, she flung herself onto her bed. So distressed was she that she did not hear the little shuffle of footsteps until some time later.

_The housekeeper_, she thought, shoulders tensing, an embarrassed flush rising up to her neck. Unthinking, she craned her head around to apologize.

And screamed.


	9. Innocence lost

Wizard116: Yep, the mysterious housekeeper, coming up! I had fun writing this chapter...

Moondance K'Treva: Heh, I _was_ thinking of it, but then I thought it'd come under the

category 'doesn't listen to reviewer advice'.

Tessabe: Ya, she's changing. She's only human, naïve and innocent, but only human.

And I'm sorry, but it is human nature to grab at power, to relish in it, to want to have more and more. It's hard for someone with power to use it fairly. And all this is fueled by her hatred and her fear. So I guess it's her magic, and the power of it, that really changes her.

Fergiaj: New reviewer!! Yay!! I'm actually going to take a bit of a long time cuz I'm off

Overseas for a bit, but as soon as possible!

Jezebel: Heh. Maybe notJ. I tried a story- three, actually, and failed miserably. I keep

quitting by the sixth chapter.

Dilemma: I don't know whether to be happy or sorry… But thanks so much and I will _try_

to review soon! Except for the next chapter which is going to take two weeks

about. So sorry!

SuzieQT: Another new reviewer!! Double yay! Glad you like it, will try to keep your

interest.

P.s. Has anyone noticed that I always post up a new chapter when the story is at number fifteen? But not this next chapter. So sorry. This one's going to take a while. I'm going overseas for a bit… Ah well, onto the story!

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She screamed.

And forgot about all the horrors she had been and faced as she looked upon a new horror which was this, this _thing._

It wasn't the lack of humanity that appalled her, for it-she-_was_ human. Rather, it was the lack of. . . of _soul_.

With eyes of a glassy bottle-green, of a slightly glazed shade and shadow, the housekeeper stared at Maie uncomprehendingly. Quite as uncomprehendingly as Maie stared at it, desperately hunting for some character, some flame of life in the girl.

For she was a girl, probably no more than twelve, with limply curly red hair, which had probably pranced under sunlight like dancing flames, once upon a time. With wide, doe eyes, which would probably have been considered innocent, if there were any emotion reflected off the dull green. With a past personality, which would have probably been something innocent, something full of joy and laughter, before. . .

Before this.

The girl swayed slightly, staring blankly ahead, as if unable to comprehend the situation, as if she didn't know what to do now.

A minute past, and then two.

After the fifth, Maie slowly crept off of the bed, towards the stranger.

The girl didn't respond, merely walking towards the bed and tidying it. It was as if Maie was not even there.

And suddenly the realization hit.

Ley.

Her name was Ley.

Frantic now, she scrambled towards the bookshelves, scrabbling with the books in a panicked haste before she came across the worn, yellowed one that was a diary. She hadn't done much more than flip through it before, yet now she hastily turned page after page.

Yava, the old one with scrawled handwriting and deep blue ink. Arien, who spoke of laughter and sunrise where there was none to be found. Cerienne, with ink of purple and green and stories of great length. And Ley.

She stopped at Ley.

_"__It is so dark. I don't like it. I don't like **him** too, but mama said I must try to. She said I will soon, but I don't think so. I don't like **him**. He's dark and scary and he says mean things. Mama was crying today. I don't like her crying. I wasn't bad today. I didn't make her cry for four years. I don't know why she was crying. But she said I must be good. She said that **he** will take care of me but I don't think so. I don't think **he** takes care of anybody__."_

She skipped a few entries, her heart breaking for the scared, little girl, younger than even she was, more lost and unsure than any deserved to be.

_"**He** was mad today. I couldn't lift the water bucket. I told **him** that I was only ten. I said that Mama never made me lift heavy water buckets. **He **doesn't talk much, but **he** talked now. **He** said I was hopeless and spoilt and a lot of other things I think were mean. And then **he **just went away. I don't like it here. I want to go back."_

More entries like that. Daëmor surely had made a mistake when he chose. Reading the diary, Maie could see that the companion would only choose the innocent. Yet maybe the girl was too innocent for this. She read the last chapter, sparing a glance for the girl methodically cleaning her room.

_"I'm scared. I think that **he's** really mad. But I don't care. I meant it when I said I want to go home! It's scary here. **He's** scary. I don't care if mama gets mad. I don't want to stay here. But I don't know where **he** is now. **He** just said "it apears that I had been mistakin, choosing you. You will never be a dark herald". And then **he** went away. **He's** been gone for a long time. I packed my things and hid them under the bed. I want to go home."_

That was the last entry scrawled from her.

Slowly, Maie looked at Ley from across the room. The girl paid no attention to her, merely moving from the readied bed to the bathing room. Maie crept slowly to the bed, foreboding chilling her spine and illuminating her path in dark warnings.

Slowly, she knelt down to the unlooked shadows under the bed. She reached out slowly, past cobwebs and layers of dust and grit…

And grasped a bundle.

Maie froze, torn between the need to see and the need to not. Her hands trembled, white with strain and lined with tension.

Then slowly, ever so slowly, the leather bundle was dragged from its hiding place. Shaking fingers quietly pulled at the knotted coverings. The red haired girl paid no heed.

Little, paperback picture books. Sheaves of yellowed parchment. Big, black, sprawled words against neat, cursive ones. A framed letter with neatly written words.

"Ride tall and proud, little one. You _will_ find your dreams."

Something in Maie broke. A dam of horror, of dread, or long-denied knowledge. Gasping, she stumbled backwards, away from all this. Away from any of this.

Then, staggering to her feet, she fled.

It was near dark before Daëmor found her.

She was curled in a fetal position, huddled between stacks of hay and straw. She did not even acknowledge his presence.

_:Well done. I had thought that you would have no problems with the wyrsa I had sent. You dispatched of them. . . quite readily.:_

"Get the hell away," she whispered harshly, "I know who you are."

A sardonic, blood-red eye raised.

_:Really:_

"Yes, really," now wrenching herself up to her feet, she hissed a venom-filled hiss, eyes bright with tears and voice quickly rising, "A companion, are you? I've never seen evil as pure and dark as yours. You think I do not know who and what you live on?"

"Yes," she continued with a bitter, bitter laugh, "the innocent. It is on them you feed, is it not? Their pain, their confusion, their despair. _My_ despair. You think that I have not seen? I have seen your housekeeper."

The last words were uttered in a whisper, and yet were all the more potent in their use. Daëmor's eyes widen for a split-second, then turned back into themselves.

_:I would have told you, even if you hadn't. Yet I know all this. I shall tell you later.:_

Eyes glittering with hate and tears, Maie clenched her fists in challenge.

"No," she snarled, "you shall tell me now."


	10. Fire and Darkness

Dilemma: Maie's mom? She isn't supposed to know. She's lost her mom, and her horse, and her. . . everything.

Icekube: Hehe. Thanks! I'm flattered. Oh, Maie hasn't done much to be admired about right now. She will though. Just read on!

Tessabe: Yep, she has a backbone. . . but enough to _be_ his match?

Jezebel: Eeee! So sorry! Heh, think this is bad? Daëmor is gonna get worse.

Wizard116: yay! Thank you!

Moondance K'Treva: Yep, she's up and fighting. She's always been a fighter, maybe too awe-struck before, but now she's up and fighting!

-

Okay so sorry, just got back home, switched on the computer, and went to work: ). Sorry it took so long! But it's extra long! So read, enjoy and once again, pleeaaaaase review! I'm addicted to reviews now. . .

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Daëmor stared for a moment, in something that Maie hoped was shock but couldn't quite tell. Maybe it was anger, or maybe it was amusement. Maie didn't know. Even his mindspeech was bland and unflavored, save for the darkness he carried wherever he went.

_:Very well. I shall tell you now.:_

She waited, half in anticipation and half in fear. Did she really want to know? She had thought so. She wasn't so certain now. Either way, she had no choice. Tossing her head in a gesture of defiance and a fast-waning strength, she gestured at the companion to go on.

It matters not what he says, she ordered herself silently, it matters not how scared you are _you will not cry_. You _will_ not let him know.

_:I did not lie. I have told no lies to you as yet. I am a companion. My name is Daëmor. Previously, that was all that was needed to be known. Now is a different matter._

_:There is but one dark companion in all of Valdemar. Only one, for it goes against the very essence of a companion. A companion lives on good, drinks in the warmth of love and the light of goodness. The dark companions, they feed on fear. The fear of the innocent.:_

Stand tall, stand proud, she commanded silently, goddamn it you _will _not crumble. Even if your dreams are shattered and shredded and torn you _will not crumble_.

"Go on," she snarled instead. It was so much easier to use hate to cover despair. She had lost so much. She who had everything to gain had instead lost everything there was.

_:The dark companions are called only if there is the direst of need. Many a war, for instance, or for a greatly needed assassination. Good cannot combat evil alone. Alone, it is not powerful enough to withstand the eroding tides of wickedness before the final, destroying wave engulfs it. No. It takes evil to know evil, and as such it takes evil to battle it. There is no such thing as a pure companion of darkness. There is no such thing as a pure dark herald.:_

Maie tensed to keep herself from trembling. She paled but tossed her head in defiance. Her courage withered but her pride held strong. There was nothing he could do to bring her down. There was nothing he could do to force her to her knees. It was not a matter of dreams anymore; it was not a matter of fly or fall. She had fallen. And she knew it. She was one of the fallen. But there was nothing he could do to make her collapse. Not in front of him. Even when her hopes and very self had been rendered into a million shards of lost dreams, she would not collapse in front of him.

She kept her composure and with it her pride. If nothing else, she had her pride. And she _had_ nothing else, but for her pride. But her pride she was keeping. Her pride would see her through this. Her pride would never belong to him.

_:The dark companion is only called when the need is dire. There is reason for that. Valdemar was born out of morals, and a land of morals it remains. The dark companion requires a sacrifice no ruler can lightly make. A sacrifice that would haunt the king or queen of Valdemar until their day's end.:_

Daëmor stared at Maie and she knew even before he said it what the sacrifice was.

_:The dark companion will always require the sacrifice of an innocent. An innocent such as yourself.:_

-

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-

The Queen had gotten up for the fifth time, just to pace across the bedroom restlessly before diving under the comfort of her blankets to pray for sleep to claim her this time. But the comforting embrace of her goose-feather quilt was empty to her. Empty and meaningless.

What had she done? Was she right? Was she wrong? What choice had she had?

None, she knew, and yet that helped not at all. She was a herald, damn it, even before she was a Queen, she was a herald. It was her job to protect the innocent, and yet she had just condemned one to something worse than death.

A dark herald was dead because she had nothing that classified her as living. Her heart beat, yes, and her lungs functioned easily, but there was no mind, no emotion, no _soul_.

Yes. A dark herald had no soul.

When a herald died, he was given a choice. To live in eternal peace, or to return to protect Valdemar. A dark herald had no such choice. A dark herald would not even see the face of her creator.

Her body would be taken and her soul held captive and forgotten. She would never meet Lord Death, would never feel the peace and the beauty of the peace. Would never feel the cooling strength of Death's lips upon her brow, would never realize that Death was no enemy.

No. She would live in eternal damnation, forced forever into torment, a soul without anywhere to go, without anything to be.

And that was something that was unforgivable. It may be necessary, but it was unforgivable.

The Queen gazed back at the warmth of her bed. She was not deserving of it.

_:Chosen, there was nothing else to do. None can blame you for it.:_

Her companion's tone was flavored with compassion, with love, and yet with much sorrow. And she knew that the deed hurt him more than she could ever know. That the companion would bear his grief for eternity and more.

_:None can blame me: _she replied, sorrow shared, _:none but myself.:_

-

-

-

Maie set her chin and let fire light in her eyes.

"Try it," she snarled savagely, aware that it was only hate that was giving her strength, "there will be no sacrifice."

Daëmor cast amused eyes upon her.

_:Oh, but there will. There shall be no death, but yet there shall be sacrifice. It is the price the Queen has to pay for her people. It is a price **you** have to pay. You, the Queen's one expediency.:_

And inside she was screaming, in anger, in fear, in hate and horror. And she felt her walls crumbling from inside out.

No, you will not fall, not now.

No, she still had pride. Even as tears pricked the edges of her eyes, she fought them back. She still had pride. She still had herself, and she still had pride.

"I can fight. I _will_ fight. But I will not become a dark herald. You cannot make a dark herald. You cannot make me one of _them_."

Pride rang pure in her voice as she spoke. There was no tremble, nothing but confidence. She was Maie. She was fire and she was light. She was hope and she was dreams. She could not be succumbed by darkness. Her flare of life shone bright in the blackest of black.

_:Yet you will be.:_

"I said once again that _no I will not_. You cannot make me."

He could not make her. She, who was vibrant with life and light. She was Maie. He could not make her, with the strong chin and wild, laughing hair. Her, with the fiery eyes and indomitable spirit. Her, who could not be conquered. Her, who _would_ not be conquered. No, she could never be one of _them_.

She laughed, and maybe there was bitterness in it, but there was also challenge. And challenge was hope. Challenge was dreams.

She was Maie. She was a fighter. She would fight.

"Oh, you bastard. Oh, you think that you can take any young girl from her home and use your influence to have her believe that you are a companion. You think that you can just come in a rip apart her dreams, her hopes. You think that you can destroy me. You think that you can use me up and toss me aside. You are so wrong you don't know me and damn if I will _ever _be used _by a piece of shit like yourself!_"

The damning, quiet tone she started with shifted with the hatred she felt, and she caught her voice rising to just under a scream.

"No," she whispered, harsh and dangerously soft, "no, my soul is mine. I am mine. You'll never be able to use me."

Anger held her spine straight. Pride kept her eyes burning on his. She would not cry or crumble. She was larger than life.

Tension, quite tension, filled the air. Amusement left Daëmor's eyes, replaced by wary darkness.

_:So you think: _he sneered softly,_ :so you think.: _

And all at once Maie was rocked with an image. The Yaéna as she once was, full of courage and fight, and the Yaéna as she was after, flat, hooded eyes and limp hair. The Ley as she once was, full of laughter, and as she was now, transforming before her eyes. The Maie she could not imagine without her fire, distant and empty and filled with nothingness.

They could not fight him. Neither could she.

Courage deserted her. Pride rocked back in fear. Anger gave way to despair.

Tears trickled down, unstoppable.

No.

She turned. Turned and fled. Fled, away into the forests beyond.


	11. The End of Hope

Heya! Finally convinced that I _had_ to write! I'm sooo sorry. I don't know. Writing isn't coming as easily now. But if I give up now I'll never finish this. And there's only. . . wow, a couple of chapters to go. And I apologize in advance if this is short, but I don't have much to go. I'm just wrapping it up now.

Guest: Yep, whoever you are, you're the one who finally convinced me, simply cuz you

made me feel like slime for quitting.

Jezebel: I know. . . she is naïve, isn't she? Poor thing. . . Haha thanks so much for the

compliment, I'll try my best to write up to it.

Dilemma: Yep, you made me feel like slime too for being so nice while I was playing the

lazy pig.: ). I guess I'll have to thank you for that. So thanks!

Kathleen McCrory: Why is everyone making me feel so lazy : )! Haha probably cuz I am.

Thanks for the review! Pleaaaaaaase continue!

Anduin: My first flaming. . . I don't know why I'm laughing. Not at you, Just at the fact

that. . . I got my first flaming! Now I really am no longer new! Haha: ). Hm. . . I've already apologized about the shower, but I'm not going to redo that chapter, sorry, cuz I save all my chapters over previous ones. Daëmor. . . Well, I never said that he does not sweat. Frankly, the picture I have of Daëmor is a toweringly tall, emaciated-looking beast with blood-red eyes, a foaming mouth, burning hot and very sweaty. I think he needs electrolytes. He may not 'colic with the drop of a hair', but not all well bred competition horses do that, either. Even ponies can be fed on those foods. As for Maie, well you'll have to remember that she _is_ only eleven or twelve. She _is_ going to have trouble with the feed bins, and the hay. She doesn't mount Daëmor; remember in Arrows of the Queen, how Rolan gets Talia on board? Exactly. Aie, this is a really long review reply thing. I do hope you enjoy the story otherwise. : ) no offense taken?

Bookwyrmk: Yay! sigh, it's nice to feel appreciated: ).

Tessabe: Thank you so much for your understanding and all your reviews! But Daëmor

isn't really a companion, remember? Or not in that sense. But yes, you made me

feel like a lazy thing and got my butt up and working again: ). I'll be better : ).

Icekube: Hey: )! Horse riding's the best thing on earth: ). Of course, since someone I

know fell off the other day. . . : ).

Dolphingirl32173: Yay it's you again! Oooh, I hate to disappoint you. . . but it seems as

if she does. . . mwahahahahaha! But honestly I don't like it much either.

Wizard116: Thank you, thank you. I've been meaning to read your When I Toll but I

haven't been on the net for such a long time! I'll catch up on it, though!

>

>

>

She ran.

She ran further than she had ever been, further than she had ever dared to go. There could be wyrsa. There could be colddrakes. She didn't care. How could she care?

Tears blocked her vision and her heart pounded violently. She smelt fear, and knew it was from herself. The back, little section of her brain that still was able to process told her it was from herself. And still she ran.

They say that animals can sense fear. That predators are drawn to the sharp, tangy scent of horror. That may be, and yet none came. The forest was silent but for her heavy footsteps and the laughing, laughing wind.

And still she ran.

She didn't care about the Queen, not anymore, nor about Valdemar. She abandoned duty when she ran, abandoned honor and pride and fight. Yet she didn't care. But how could she care?

Is it not too much to ask of one? That her soul be damned forever? That she stay forever in torment? That she have no relief after death? The wind whistled, and the wind whispered, and she thought maybe she saw the little wisps of the souls of the past, she thought maybe she saw herself, crumpled and ruined, in it.

To have nothing; no memories, no joy, no soul. It was too much to ask of her. It is too much to ask of anyone.

She hadn't a mirror and so could not see her reflection. It was probably for the better. The dark brown of her eyes had shifted into a deep, dark ebony. Her hair had never been neat, yet it had never been this unkempt mess of tangles it was now. She hadn't combed it for weeks. She didn't know. She couldn't remember to.

She had never been fat, but had never been this lean. Right now she was whipcord and muscle and very little else. A comely face had turned sharp and angular, with lips having forgotten the meaning of a smile.

No, it was probably for the better that she could not see herself.

Fear had taken her, sent her fleeing. Yet it could not sustain her, nor give her the energy to run and run and never stop. And when she collapsed at the foot of a towering oak, she hadn't any idea where she was. The forest was without many landmarks, and she had not thought beyond the stages of escaping the waystation.

Now that she had, though. . .

A forest could only be so big, she thought as she slowly hefted herself off the ground. She could survive, if need be, off the forest. It was not winter. She could brave the elements of nature, if need be. She had magic, had she not? She was able to summon fire and water if necessary. She could hunt if she had to.

She could make it back to her village.

She must.

Panic still clouded her mind, but it only fueled her, gave her purpose. She strode through the woods, marking trees, making landmarks for herself as she headed towards the lightest areas of the forests.

Minutes past, then candlemarks. Gradually, Maie felt the air grow lighter. Maybe it was just her imagination, but she clung to it, let it carry all the hope she had. See, she told herself, I'm near the end of the forest. See? I'll go back and live an ordinary life.

Then came the final bombshell.

The first tree she had marked, a burning slash of panic.

Again the first tree.

Backpeddling as fast as possible, Maie swerved around to see the last tree she had been to. Marked. As was the first.

No. She was just going in circles. Quickly, she hurried on a different direction. She would not turn. She would go straight.

She ran. Air burned through her lungs as she ran. She had to get out.

Minutes tore by again. And then candlemarks.

And then the first tree.

Where was she?

_What was this place?_

A thought burned its way to her mind.

_There was no way out_.

No. . .

No. She would get back. She would get back to her home, to her parents. . .

Her parents? Did she have parents?

She had a mom. . . didn't she? Dimly, she could recall distant screaming, a flash of auburn hair. And her father? Who was her father?

Wooden bark splintered as she dug trembling nails into them. Who were her parents? What were their names? _Who was she?_

Maie. I am Maie.

I am. . . Maie.

Am I?

No, she whispered to herself, tears unclotting the caked dirt on her face. No. I'll always know who I am. I will.

But she didn't.

Who were her parents? Who was her horse? Who was _she?_

She didn't know.

She sank down against the trunk of the tree. And cried.

And that was how Daëmor found her, candlemarks later, with no more tears to shed, no more hope to cling to. This was her life now. She knew that. She could not fight it anymore. Even if she had the strength, she no longer had the will to. What was the point?

_:Come:_ Daëmor said.

And she followed.


	12. Passing of Dawn

Finished! Sorry it took so long! Now you know why I can't write novels: I've got such a short attention span! Anyhow, sorry it's been a bit- very- short, but the story just had to end and. . . ya.

I'll probably be starting another sometime soon, something completely different so I won't . . . fade out. . . before the last two chapters like I did now.

Icekube: erm. . . ya. . . hehe guilty smile. Was it _really_ a bit abrupt? I'll have to change it. . . sometime. . . heh

Wizard116: The ending to your story? I thought she'd like get really pissed off and choose her own herald whatever fate said. But yours is so much better: ).

Jezebel: I sorry I can't help it, I _had_ to make this one a dark fic. : (. But I'm glad this story gave a bit more emotion than 'oh, that's nice' or 'that's kinda sad'.

So anyway, read, _review_ (I'm always begging for reviews), and enjoy!

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That had been weeks, months, maybe even years ago. She did not know, she did not care. A moment was a flash, and yet an eternity. She could not say she lived in a daze, a haze of despair, because she didn't. It was difficult to say how she lived. It was difficult to speak of her at all.

How can life be cruel when one cannot feel any despair? Maie did not feel grief, or hatred, or even the want for escape. She had no sorrow in her life, no fear. So could it be called cruelty? Was Daëmor truly evil?

Maybe not. For there was no sorrow felt the first time she encountered the horrors of a newly burned village. And there was no revulsion when she first set eyes upon the charred, tortured forms of her fellow countrymen. Countrywomen. Country-children. And there was no fear the first time she'd hunted down the murderers, hunted them down and slit their throats. No. She was not haunted by who she was, nor by what she saw.

Yet maybe. For there was no brightly dancing sunlight flickering through the heavy denseness of the trees. And if there was no sorrow, neither was there joy. There was very little to see of cruelty. But, then again, there was little, very little, left to see of Maie.

There was no dawn after that one, fateful day. She could not feel the whisper of wind on her skin. The plaintive whistles from the feathered friends were lost to her. She had ventured out, she had seen the brilliance of sunlight, but beauty had been lost to her long ago. Was there any her at all?

What was her name? Who were her parents? Was she not the fire and starlight that fought through dark despair? Was she not the indomitable flame that laughed at fear and death? Yet fire was as far from her eyes as ice, and starlight as forgotten as darkness.

Oh, she was not evil. But that was because she was not much at all. Her eyes may not be ice, no, but they were glazed and unseeing, useless. Her mind was not evil, but neither was it anything else. It had no use. It was no use to Daëmor, and so it had no use.

She felt nothing. There was no brightly flaring hope, no darkly laughing despair. There were no tears, and yet neither was there laughter. She was the dark herald. She was darkness and shadows, a silent death no plague could match. She was Valdemar's ultimate tool. She was only ever a tool.

And so days fled into weeks. Time abandoned her to her fate. Her cursed fate. She was no longer Maie. She was Lady Death, and the Dark One, and Black Hawk. She was the dark herald. This is her story.


End file.
